When I gazed into the distance,

I stole a look at the Moon,

though it looked wrong and distorted -

a smudge of white paint in the sky,

a reflection of a kitchen lamp

caught in a window's glass;

so far away it seemed so small,

like all my problems are

with some distance in-between

and I can't help but wonder

if we too look so tiny to the Moon,

unimportant because of the size,

and what it must think of us -

full of hope and destruction and love;

is it jealous of our mundanity

or does it pity our short existence,

shining on us all as if its children,

parting the darkness ready to envelop us,

lighting our future paths ahead;

silver rays so gentle and free,

and we look up, wishing to be the same.